


The Morning Star

by kelios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Pining, Wincest - Freeform, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: In the time Before, Sam made the ultimate sacrifice to save the world.
Relationships: Sam/Dean
Comments: 9
Kudos: 101





	The Morning Star

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tweet: https://twitter.com/Ciaraioch/status/1262325684887785472 and a little nudging by @kamidiox--who will hopefully be creating an illustration for it. 
> 
> This is very AU, obviously, combining elements from seasons 5-10 in a blender and adding a bit of post-apocalyptic mystery for flavor.

When Jack first arrives at the monastery, he learns two things: first, that there are rules. Rules about when to sleep, when to eat, when to work, when to pray, when to go to mass, when to...just so many rules. Second, the rules don’t apply to everyone. 

This seems unfair, at first. Why should this one person be exempt? He asks the other brothers first. 

“Don’t ask so many questions, ya idjit,” Brother Robert grouses at him, which Jack thinks is _also_ unfair since he’d only asked one. 

“It’s a _mystery_ ,” Brother Ash says eagerly. “No one knows, but they say it’s because he’s from Before.” 

“From Before?” Jack asks, intrigued. He’s never known anyone from Before, never known a time when restless spirits didn’t walk the earth freely, when demons didn’t wreak their havoc unchecked by all but small and desperate bands of hunters. “I’ve never met anyone from Before.”

“No one has,” Ash says solemnly. “But that’s what they say.”

“You should ask _him_ ,” Brother Gabriel suggests slyly. “After all, he’s the one who would know, right?” Jack doesn’t like Brother Gabriel--he’s got a wicked sharp tongue and a cruel sense of humor that has already gotten Jack into trouble a few times, and Jack has already decided he’s not going to do anything Brother Gabriel suggests unless Father Rufus _also_ tells him to do it. His back still twinges occasionally from the lashing he’d gotten after he followed Brother Gabriel’s advice and added beet root to the washing powder in the communal bath house in an effort to improve the smell. 

So Jack decides to take matters into his own hands, and in doing so learns two more things: The mysterious Brother Winchester is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life. And there is A Statue. 

That’s how Jack thinks of it after he slips guiltily into the room after Brother Winchester leaves one afternoon, his curiosity overriding his common sense for the hundredth time: _The Statue_. It’s a man, of sorts, with enormous wings and gently curling hair that looks soft enough to touch despite being carved of stone. He’s naked but for a swathe of cloth draped over his lap, doing nothing to hide his exquisitely sculpted chest and abdomen or his powerfully muscled shoulders and thighs. There’s a mark carved into his otherwise smooth chest, a flaming pentagram that seems to burn with cold fire despite being carved of stone. 

And his eyes. His _eyes._ Jack gasps when he first sees the statue, convinced that the artist had somehow captured a living man in solid stone. The eyes seem to follow him, burn into him as he stealthily enters the room, and he thinks that the artist must have used some sort of rock crystal because they sparkle and burn with all the colors of a starry night sky, blue and gold and green and never the same color twice.

For all his fascination, Jack has never managed the courage to speak to Brother Winchester. He rarely attends mass and eats alone most of the time, occasionally joining Brother Garth or Brother Singer. The hood of his cassock is nearly always drawn up, and Jack has never heard him speak, but even in the shadows Jack catches glimpses that take his breath away. Eyes that flash greener than the meadows of home, a hint of freckles scattered across sculpted cheekbones, and a mouth that keeps Jack awake at night with thoughts his priest at home would definitely tell him are unholy. Thoughts he’d never had before discovering Brother Winchester and his statue.

When Jack slips through the door this time, Brother Winchester is on his knees before _The Statue_ , hood thrown back and an expression on his beautiful face that Jack can’t quite decipher. Adoration, grief, longing, anger all twist the lovely planes of his face into something somehow deeper and somehow even more striking, leaving Jack ashamed that he could have ever thought to have this man for himself. As Jack watches, Brother Winchester stands, leans against the hard planes of stone as though to comfort himself. He pulls a soft cloth from the pouch at his belt and begins to clean the stone, carefully and lovingly, and for the first time Jack hears his voice. 

Gruff and thick with disuse and definitely out of tune, Brother Winchester’s voice is still moving as he sings. It’s an old song, a Before song, one that Jack recognizes from the music collection his adoptive parents sometimes listened to when he was younger. 

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad  
Take a sad song and make it better  
Remember to let her into your heart  
Then you can start to make it better  
Hey Jude, don't be afraid  
You were made to go out and get her  
The minute you let her under your skin  
Then you begin to make it better_

After a few lines Brother Winchester stops singing and begins to talk. He calls _the statue_ Sam, and even though it should be impossible Jack swears that Sam is listening to his quiet rambles about his day. Jack is spellbound, all thoughts of kitchen duty and mass driven from his mind by the scene playing out before him. He crouches behind an abandoned chair, hidden in the shadows. The room is dark other than a brilliant beam of sunlight that streams over the statue from the room’s single window, giving the gray stone flesh an almost golden hue, and Jack isn’t surprised that the last thing Brother Winchester does is carefully polish the window glass so that the light that washes over Sam remains clear and pure. 

Jack holds his breath as Brother Winchester approaches the statue one final time. He rises onto the balls of his feet, one hand coming up to cup Sam’s cheek gently as he presses a tender kiss to the cold stone lips. His hood goes back up after that, his cleaning cloth back into his pouch, and he leaves the room again without another word. 

It’s a good ten minutes before Jack feels his knees will support him. He approaches _the statue_ reverently, one hand outstretched but not daring to touch. He can see, now, that a manacle circles one slim ankle, the sturdy chain leading to a heavy ball lying at _the statue’s_ feet. One end of a broken scepter lies next to it, and when Jack lifts his eyes he sees the other end and a crown clenched in Sam’s fist. The base of the pedestal is inscribed briefly: _The Morning Star_ , and Jack realizes with a sudden chill that this is _Lucifer_ , the star of the morning, heaven’s most beautiful angel and most powerful adversary. _How is this allowed?_ he wonders fearfully. _How is Brother Winchester allowed--_

“He’s my brother.” The voice, rough and harsh, is familiar--because Jack had heard it just minutes before. 

“Br--Brother Winchester?” Jack stutters, horrified at being caught and terrified of what a worshipper of Lucifer might do to someone who trespassed. Then his words register. “Your _brother_?”

“His name is Sam,” Brother Winchester confirms, then looks at Jack sideways. “As I assume you heard.” Jack shuffles back, heart pounding in terror, but Brother Winchester waves him back wearily.

“I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?” He smiles, and the motion appears as rusty as his voice though Jack can’t help but notice the tiny crow’s feet around his eyes and the soft bow of his lips. “I’m Dean.”

“J--Jack,” Jack stammers, shoving his impure thoughts away. “Brother Jack.” 

“He’s not what you think, Jack,” Brother Winchester--Dean--says softly. “He’s a hero. He saved the world.”

Dean senses Jack’s protest before he can begin to speak. 

“He took Lucifer into himself,” Dean continues. His fingers trail over the manacle around Sam’s ankle. “He chained Lucifer in a prison of flesh and bone, and in vengeance Lucifer did _this_.” 

“Then why is everything terrible?” Jack burst out. “If Lucifer is imprisoned why are there demons and monsters _everywhere_?” 

“When we faced Lucifer, we closed the gates of hell themselves,” Dean says calmly. “Unfortunately, that meant that all the demons already here on earth can’t be returned to hell, and evil humans who die are forced to roam the earth as vengeful spirits instead of being imprisoned in hell as they deserved.” He shrugs, and Jack notices the breadth of his shoulders for the first time. He flushes and quickly looks away, his gaze falling on Dean’s hands instead--broad, calloused palms and long, thick fingers that still manage to seem elegant and deadly at the same time. “But I promise you, had Lucifer walked the earth freely, none of us would be here now. It was his intention to destroy human and demon kind alike, and return the earth to it’s original state of purity. Sam and I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

“Will he ever be free again?” Jack asked, hushed and awed. 

Sorrow etches deep lines in Dean’s forehead and drags down the corners of his mouth. “One day,” he says, and the words ring with promise, a solemn vow. “I’ll find a way to save him, no matter what it costs.” He sighs and scrubs a tired hand through his hair. “You should go now,” he says gently. “I know you have chores to do, and I don’t want you to get in any more trouble.” He hesitates, looks at Jack consideringly. “But you can come back, if you’d like. I think he would appreciate the company.” 

Jack nods, filled with pride at being chosen despite his somewhat graceless stalking. “We’ll find a way to save him,” he says then stops, taken aback by his own recklessness. After all, freeing Lucifer might not be in anyone’s best interest. 

But Dean just smiles. “We will,” he says firmly. “You can count on it.”


End file.
